


a little bit scandalous

by pleurer



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Clothed Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Frottage, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Napkin Fic, Oh Mr. Stark, Peter Parker is Very Sensitive, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-02 00:06:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20266762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleurer/pseuds/pleurer
Summary: “What do you think about dessert? I’m thinking the creme brulee, but—”“You could eat my ass,” says Peter. "After you've already come inside of it."Tony sets the menu down on the table with jarring force.





	a little bit scandalous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [syrupwit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/gifts).

> This was supposed to be a short napkinfic PWP, but then my hand slipped and some Feelings made their way in there. (There is still a lot of porn, though. :D) I’m picturing Peter as college-age in this one.
> 
> Title from Into You - Ariana Grande.
> 
> Redated for exchange author reveals.

For their three-month anniversary, Tony picks Peter up from class in the self-driving car, and whisks him away to one of the finest restaurants in town.

“I am _ way _ underdressed,” says Peter. He looks around at the neighbourhood, which he’s never set foot in. Then he looks down remorsefully down at his t-shirt, which reads: _ are you made of copper and tellurium? Because you’re CuTe. _

“Don’t worry,” says Tony as they pull up to the curb. He hands Peter a suit, and Peter changes into his new outfit in the car. It fits perfectly. Peter doesn’t want to think about how much money went into something he’s only going to wear once. 

Regardless, he feels a little bit pleased at the curious looks he gets as they enter the restaurant. Tony places a hand on his shoulder, the kind of touch innocuous enough to be platonic, as the waitress leads them down the fancy red-carpeted hall and into their private room. Peter perks up a little at the knowledge that they'll be left alone, until they have a seat at the candlelit table and realize they can hear the couple next door talking. 

“For all that I’m paying, they could at least soundproof these walls,” says Tony. 

“Were you also hoping to get lucky in here tonight?” says Peter. “Because I can be quiet. I’m good at that.” 

“You’re really not,” says Tony, giving him a peck on the cheek. “But that’s why I love you.”

A warmth spreads through Peter all the way down to his toes. 

“But it’s not that,” says Tony. “I don’t want to risk the press figuring out the Spider-Man thing, and that means you can’t be seen with me as often as I’d like. Shame, really. Have you seen yourself tonight, Mr. Parker? I’d give anything for the world to know that you’re mine.”

Peter feels a different kind of warmth this time. One that doesn’t reach his toes, but has his pants feeling awfully tight. “I don’t think they’d make the connection. It’s not like everybody you date gets shortlisted as possibly being Spider-Man,” says Peter. “Besides, you can’t just say something like that and then expect me _ not _to jump you before the appetizers are even here.”

“I’m sure you can wait until we get back to my place,” says Tony. “Patience is a virtue. You have a lot of virtues.” 

“Not this one,” says Peter. After a pause, he says, “Do you actually not want to do it here? Because if it’s not just the Spider-Man thing, I’ll respect that.”

Tony looks at Peter, carefully assessing his options. After a beat, the corner of his lip quirks up. “Okay. Fine. Try me.” 

Peter grins in response. That’s all the permission he needs. Operation: get Tony to crack— commenced. 

He behaves himself throughout appetizers. Peter learns just how impossibly fancy salads can really get. The nice hearty bowl of soup would probably fill him up before the main course if he didn’t have a superpowered metabolism. When he mentions this to Tony, Tony says, “I know, I ordered it for you.”

He’s not twenty-one yet— getting there, though— but Tony lets him have a sip of wine, anyway. It feels pleasantly warm as they share small talk. About Tony’s work, about Peter’s classes (when Peter mentions a particularly nasty prof, Tony says, with alarming sincerity, _ just say the word and I’ll have him fired and take his place). _ Peter suggests some upgrades to his Spider suit, and Tony shoots some ideas down _ (no, Peter, you do not need jetpacks in your waldoes), _ but reacts to others with a curious glint in his eye _ (toxic webbing? What would you use it for? Tell me more.) _

By the time Peter’s finished the main course— the best steak he’s ever had, not that he knows how to describe it other than _ delicious _— he’s nearly forgotten about the plan. He’s reminded of it when Tony loosens his tie and says “It’s warm in here.” It’s not meant to be a seductive gesture— Tony doesn’t have that deliberate look in his eye that Peter has come to know. Still, everything Tony does is seductive, because it’s Tony. 

“You want some help getting those clothes off?” says Peter, waggling his eyebrows. 

Tony gives him a look. “It’s really not far from my place at all.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been looking like a meal all night,” says Peter. He props his chin on his hand and smiles at Tony. “You asked me if I’d seen myself, but have you seen _ you?” _

Tony chuckles, but otherwise deftly ignores him as he opens up the menu. “What do you think about dessert? I’m thinking the creme brulee, but—”

“You could eat my ass,” says Peter. “After you’ve already come inside of it. That enough _ creme _for you?”

Tony sets the menu down on the table with jarring force and presses the button to call the waiter. When the waiter arrives, he orders one creme brulee, vein in his jaw twitching all the while. 

After the waiter takes his leave, Tony leans over the table and says to Peter, “If you behave yourself for the rest of the night, I’ll let you have a little treat when we get home. How does that sound?”

Peter nods and mimes zipping his lips shut.

He doesn’t talk for the rest of the night. It’s tough. He never noticed how much he rambles until he’s denied the privilege. Well, he’s mostly denying himself of it, but hey, lose the battle, win the war. Tony starts to notice when he asks Peter questions and Peter responds by writing out the answers on a napkin.

“How’s the food been so far?”

_ Great, _Peter writes, and slides the napkin across the table. Tony raises an eyebrow. 

“Anywhere you’d want to go next time?”

Peter is still, somewhere in the back of his mind, struggling with the concept that there will be as many _ next times _ as Tony would let him have. He smiles to himself and writes on the napkin, _ I’m down for anything. _

Tony sighs. “Pete, what are you doing? You know I’m more than happy to hear myself talk, but that’s not why I brought you here.” 

_ Just trying to behave myself, _ Peter writes. _ Wouldn’t want to slip up and say something bad. _ He underlines the _ bad, _for effect, and slides the napkin across the table, batting his eyelashes. 

Tony slides the napkin back, and gives him that look that says _ I know you’re up to something, _ but he doesn’t ask him to stop_. _

The creme brulee arrives, and they work their way through it— Peter actually _ does _ forget how to speak for a moment when what tastes like heaven melts on his tongue. The luxuries are the last thing on his mind with regards to dating Tony, but they’re a welcome perk nonetheless. He thinks about how it had been when he'd first gotten his powers— he’d been _ crazy _hungry all the time, and he remembers an awful moment when his stomach had growled in the midst of catching a perp. He thinks about how Tony has done more for him with the casual flick of a hand than he might ever know. He wants to write something about that on the napkin, but that's not a written-word type of conversation to have, so he files the thought away for later and goes back to his original plan.

By the time they’ve finished the food, Peter’s popped the top two or three buttons of his dress shirt and is unnecessarily combing his hands through his hair, mussing it up. Every time he takes a sip of his wine he lets his lips linger on the edge of the glass, focusing on the way Tony’s Adam’s apple bobs at the sight. Experimentally, he presses the ball of his foot to Tony’s ankle. Tony doesn’t move it. He slides it just a few inches up Tony’s shin. Tony clears his throat.

“Pete,” says Tony cautiously. “Is there something you want to say to me?”

Peter picks up the pen and napkin again. _ Oh, Mr. Stark, _ he writes, _ I can’t wait for you to take me home and fuck me until I forget my own name. _

With that, he slides the napkin back to Tony. He lets his foot inch up Tony’s leg and lets it rest on Tony’s inner thigh, and then, looking Tony straight in the eye, he shifts it until it’s pressed right up against his crotch. Tony’s breath hitches in his throat, and then it leaves him all at once in a rush.

“Fuck,” says Tony, sounding broken, pushed past his breaking point. His eyes are dark with desire. He pushes himself up out of his chair in one swift, smooth motion. “I’ve had it up to here with you. Get over here.”

Peter doesn’t need to be told twice. He walks around the table and sits down on the edge of it. He pushes the empty dishes aside and grabs ahold of Tony’s tie, giving him a coy grin.

“You are a serious test of my self-restraint, you know that?” says Tony, watching him affectionately.

“For the record, we still don’t have to,” says Peter. “I’m very patient. The backseat of your car is a viable option.”

“Turns out I’m not patient, either,” says Tony, mouthing against Peter’s neck. “That’s the problem.” 

Peter shudders, instantly hard in his dress pants. “Yeah?” he breathes out. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Tony answers by burying a hand in Peter’s hair and pulling as he rocks his crotch against Peter’s. Peter whines, hips jerking forward, seeking friction. Tony rocks back, picking up the pace until Peter’s right at the edge, then pulls away and tugs at his hair, hard, until Peter comes with a surprised gasp, hips thrusting into nothing as a wet spot blooms across the front of his pants. 

“Already, huh?" Tony's voice is low, appreciative. "Barely even touched you.”

“Tony,” Peter whines after he’s done catching his breath. “You know how hard it is for me to— hold back.”

“So now it’s Tony, is it? What happened to _ oh, Mr. Stark?” _

“I didn’t know you were so into it, _ Mr. Stark_,” says Peter deliberately. 

“Oh, you are trying so hard to get us in trouble,” says Tony. “I told you not to do anything I would or wouldn’t do, and look where we are.”

“Grey area,” says Peter, slightly out of breath with the way Tony’s mouthing just under his jaw, goatee brushing against tender skin and sending shivers throughout his body. Tony slides his hands under Peter’s dress shirt, rubbing at his nipples until Peter’s gasping and trembling under his touch. Then Tony reaches his hand downward, unbuckles the dress pants, and tugs them down to Peter’s ankles. Without a word, he gets down on his knees and presses an open-mouthed kiss to Peter’s cock through the boxers.

“Oh— oh my God,” says Peter. He brings a hand up to his mouth to muffle the noises as Tony licks and sucks through the fabric, one hand on Peter’s inner thigh and the other reaching down to play with his balls. Tony angles his head so that occasionally, his goatee brushes against the skin of Peter’s thigh, until he’s struggling to hold back desperate whines. He can feel the orgasm coming, and apparently Tony can, too, because he leaves a bite at the junction of thigh and crotch and Peter comes just like that, hips jolting as he cries out.

“Is this your revenge?” says Peter breathlessly after he’s come down from his second high, and most of his clothes aren’t even off. “Getting me to ruin every piece of clothing I have on me.”

“It’s not my fault if you can’t dial your senses back,” says Tony. “We’ve had a lot of practice. You should be better at this.” 

“That’s not fair,” says Peter. “Why don’t _ you _ try having these powers— _ oh.” _

Tony sneaks his hand past the waistband of Peter’s boxers and strokes his cock, finally, _ finally. _ Peter lets his head fall back and loses himself in the pleasure, lifting his hips obediently for Tony to get the ruined boxers off of him and shrugging off his dress jacket, too. Tony leaves the dress shirt on, and tells him to roll over. Obediently, Peter braces himself on his elbows against the table and arches his back. Tony trails an appreciative hand along the curve of his ass, and then Peter hears something uncap— thank God Tony brought lube, because Peter really did not want to have anything edible up his ass, no matter how fancy. And then a wet finger slips into Peter’s hole and he _ moans, _fucking back onto it, meeting Tony’s thrusts.

“God, look at you,” says Tony. “Don’t know how I waited this long. Should’ve just had you for all three meals.”

“See?” says Peter. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you— _ ah!” _

He stops thinking for a moment when Tony finds his prostate. Taking the sound as encouragement, Tony slips in another finger, and soon a third, alternating his pace and the deepness of it, so that Peter doesn’t know when he’s going to brush against his sweet spot until he’s already there. Peter’s already coming apart again, and he braces his hold firmly on the table, because he doesn’t want to come again until Tony’s inside of him.

All of that is thrown out the window when Tony leans over, his chest pressing heavy against Peter’s back, and says into the shell of Peter’s ear, “You’re taking it so well, Pete. Such a good boy.”

Peter comes immediately, ruining both the tablecloth and his dress shirt. He doesn’t care. Doesn’t have time to care, because Tony lines himself up against Peter’s entrance before Peter’s even had a chance to breathe. When Tony slides in, it punches a whine out of Peter and has him gripping the table so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t break. Tony doesn’t let up. As soon as he bottoms out, he starts to fuck Peter at a relentless, merciless pace. 

“Yeah,” says Tony. “Just like that. Perfect. So perfect for me.”

“Oh—” says Peter, having lost the capacity for coherent speech. “Oh— Mr. Stark—”

He’s crying out now, vision blurring with tears as his body jerks, shaking the table, cock rubbing against the tablecloth and Tony just takes, and takes, until another orgasm is wrung out of Peter with a shudder and a sob.

Tony does pause at that, but only to stroke his hand through Peter’s hair, which, damn it, he _ totally knows _is a huge turn-on.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whimpers, face pressed against the tablecloth. “Please— I—”

“Please what?” Tony runs a torturously slow hand down Peter’s back. Every single one of his nerves is on fire. “You’ve got to use your words, Pete. What do you want?” 

“I need you,” says Peter. “I need— need you to come inside me, Mr. Stark, _ please.” _

Tony lets out a choked-off groan, and grabs onto Peter’s hips, thrusting hard a few times before burying himself to the hilt and coming hard. Peter whimpers at the feeling, the feeling of Tony’s come inside of him getting his cock to stir again.

After Tony pulls out, he eats his own come out of Peter’s ass. It’s filthy, and amazing, and just what Peter wanted or maybe a little too much. When Tony presses a sharp bite to his ass cheek, Peter comes again, one last time, shaking through it. 

Tony helps him get dressed again and then he clambers into Tony’s lap. Tony’s supposedly soothing touch in his hair only serves to light his overstimulated nerves on fire, and he jerks and wriggles away involuntarily. Tony gets the hint and simply wraps a chaste hand around his waist, holding him in place. He gives Peter a few moments to catch his breath. 

“You were right. That was better than the creme brulee,” says Tony.

Peter huffs out a shaky laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Tony nuzzles at the side of Peter’s head. “You doing okay?”

“Not so good. I think I’m already healing. I wanted to feel you for days.” He wiggles his ass, disappointed at how quickly the soreness is fading. “Superpowers are so overrated.” 

“Oh, kid,” says Tony. “I swear to God, I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” 

“You saved the universe,” says Peter. “And you also saved me from dying of blue balls just now.” He gives Tony a quick, chaste kiss on the nose, and then pulls away with a grin. The expression on Tony’s face as he watches him can only be described as smitten, and Peter will never quite get used to it. 

When they leave the restaurant, everyone’s staring at them, the evidence of what they did written all over themselves in the form of messy hair and wrinkled clothes. Tony slips his hand into Peter’s back pocket, and walks the two of them proudly out of there. 

-

When they get back to Tony’s place, Peter is hit with the biggest wave of regret. There, on Tony’s bed, is a scattering of rose petals. There are candles on the nightstand, and a treasure chest in the centre of the bed that probably holds exactly what Peter thinks it does.

“Oh my God— _ Tony.” _He whirls around to face Tony, at a sudden loss for words.

Tony’s hand is on the back of his own neck, almost shy. “Told you to wait until we got back home. You didn’t listen.” 

“I— I had no idea that you’d. Wow.” Peter walks over to the bed, and picks up a petal, scarlet red and silky smooth. He opens the treasure chest, and lets out a laugh of disbelief. There’s vibrators, anal beads, pretty much every sex toy that Peter could ever think of, including ones that appear custom made— a dildo that’s the exact shade of red and gold as Tony’s suit, for one. Peter picks up a web shooter. 

“Tony, why are my web shooters in here?”

“That’s up to your interpretation.”

“Is this your way of saying you want me to tie you up with my webs?”

“Maybe.” Tony shrugs. “Nothing you can do about it now. I won’t be able to get it up for the next while, because _ someone _already got me to come.” 

“Wait,” says Peter. “I’m not allowed to use these on myself? Not until you—”

“Nope,” says Tony, tone leaving no arguments.

Peter throws his head back and groans. “I knew I was gonna regret that,” he said. 

“Oh, don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” Tony saunters over and pushes Peter’s head back, hands lingering a beat too long in the hair and— is he _ tugging? _He presses a kiss to Peter’s forehead. “I know you can wait. You’re such a good boy for me, aren’t you?”

Peter grits his teeth and wills himself to take a deep breath. This is going to be a long, long night.


End file.
